First Right of Refusal
22
O n Monday morning, Alistair returned her call and suggested she drop by his office so they could discuss the matter in person. She wondered why he wouldn’t just tell her on the phone. Whatever, she was going into town for her first bartending shift that night, so they agreed to meet around four thirty.
Brynne knew something was amiss. Alistair was always put together, but today his tie was gone, and his hair stuck up all over the place.
“I received a call today about your aunt’s estate. There has been a development that I must share with you.”
“You’re making me nervous Alistair, what on earth is going on?”
“Let me get right to it. The man who owns the property surrounding yours is claiming Josie made promises to him.”
“What? What kind of promises?” she tried to keep her voice calm.
“The first was gaining access to dig a trench from the main road down to the shoreline. And second, he said she gave him the first right of refusal to purchase the property. He learned of her death on the weekend and sought me out.”
Brynne’s stomach dropped, and she felt lightheaded. “Does he have any proof of these so-called promises? She meant for me to have the house, that’s why she put me on the title. Doesn’t that mean it’s my decision whether to sell it?”
“Yes. It’s totally your decision. And I don’t believe he has written proof. He said they had discussed it at length but never got the agreements signed.”
“Wow. That’s crazy. She mentioned nothing about selling—or this trench thing.”
Alister pulled pages off his printer and stacked them neatly in front of Brynne. “After a rather heated discussion, he asked that I present an offer to purchase the whole parcel.”
She scanned the paperwork and noticed they made it out to The Estate of Josephine Lamond . She stopped and frowned at Alistair. “I don’t want to sell right now. Josie took steps so I would own it, knowing how much I love it.”
“I believe that too, Brynne. When you moved to London and began pursuing your dream of writing, she knew one day you would need a place away from the city. Like she did.”
She scanned the rest of the document. When her eyes landed on the numbers, her mouth dropped open in shock. “Five hundred thousand pounds! That’s crazy, isn’t it?”
“Not that crazy. It sits on two and a half acres, which includes the beach. I don’t think the buyer wants the house, they want the land and access to the water. Something about running underground pipes or cables.”
“Christ, that’s a lot of money.” She stared at it and shook her head. “I can’t decide this right now. My whole life has turned upside down and this is the only place I feel safe.”
“I understand. I will convey your decision not to sell—understanding that if you change your mind, they will be the first to know.”
“Okay. Thanks Alistair.” She stared at the paper. Magnus MacCallum. “Who is this guy? What do you know about him?”
“I believe he owns a communications company and has purchased land on Skye, Rum, Eigg, and Uist, and you know he bought all the land around your place and just finished building the house at the top of the hill.”
She wrinkled her nose. “He probably wants to tear down Josie’s house so he has a clear view of the water.”
One gray brow lifted. “Funny thing is, Josie really liked him. He was always very kind to her. So, I don’t think he’s all bad.”
Brynne wasn’t buying it. “If he was so nice , why didn’t she tell me about him?”
“That, I’m afraid I cannot answer, dear. But it’s good to know that if you decide to sell, you have a buyer ready.”
“I suppose that’s true, but right now, it needs serious repairs. The contractor came on the weekend to survey the water damage. I need to know what I can borrow from the estate.”
Alistair took off his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose. “There was money set aside for your travel and such. We can immediately access 3,500 pounds. And I can stretch it to another 1,500 pounds. Just bring me the written estimate on the repairs and send me any receipts.”
“Okay, that’s a good start. I’ll get that for you as soon as possible. Thanks, Alistair.”
Brynne left his office and walked to the hotel, mumbling to herself about the mystery neighbor. Who the hell does this guy think he is?
Brynne quickly changed into her white dress shirt, tartan bow tie, and matching apron. Declan used the green Hunting tartan of Clan Fraser throughout the hotel. The uniform was simple, and she could wear her own jeans and comfortable black combat boots.
An hour later, the dinner crowd filtered in. It was steady, but nothing she couldn’t keep up with. She hit her stride, serving several customers sitting at the bar and filling the orders for the servers. It kept her from focusing on her neighbor and his outrageous offer.
It was after one a.m. when she collected her purse from her locker. Jared had texted to say he got reinstated at the club and he was staying at a friend’s tonight, so he would call her tomorrow. That sounded promising! Brynne hoped the friend was John.
Another surprise was a text message from her father. He and his new wife were in Prince Edward Island and had just picked up her message about Josie’s death.
Once home, she dialed him on FaceTime. When she told him Josie committed suicide, he was speechless. For as long as she could remember, he had avoided all difficult subjects and swept them under the rug. After her mother left, he never mentioned her name again. Today was no exception. He changed the subject and asked about her job and that nice boy , Ross. Oh geez.
“Uh, I guess we haven’t talked since last month, Dad. Ross and I broke up, and I left my job at the paper to come to Skye. Josie left me the house, and I’m going to spend the summer here.”
He looked surprised; his brow creased with worry. “Oh, sweetie, are you sure you’re okay? I thought you and Ross were serious?”
“He was not the man for me, and it’s good I figured it out. I’m doing great, and I’ve got a job at a hotel in Portree. I’m going to take my time before deciding where I want to work next—plus I’m almost finished with my first novel.”
“Oh, that’s wonderful. I always thought you had a special way with words.”
That remark caused a lump to form in her throat. “Thanks, Dad. That means a lot.” She kept peppering him with questions about the trip and where they were going next. When he yawned, she jumped at the chance to get off the call. “Well, Pops, it’s super late here, and I’ve just come from work. Send me a postcard when you get to Newfoundland, and be careful.”
He winked. “I will, sweetheart. Look after yourself. I love you.”
“I love you too, Dad.”
Tears came without warning. What the hell was wrong with her? In the last ten years, she had cried maybe four times, and now she couldn’t keep them at bay. This was becoming annoying. Sure, she missed her father…or rather, she missed the man he was before her mother left. The in-between years were not worth remembering. At least he’d found happiness and someone to share his life with.
The next morning, Alistair’s phone call woke her out of a deep sleep. She swore and rolled over to grab her phone.
“Brynne, I’m sorry to wake you.” He cleared his throat. “MacCallum was not pleased that you declined his offer, and he is threatening to contest the will.”
“What?!” Brynne bolted upright.
“There are only a few ways to do that here in Scotland. He could sue under the grounds of facility and circumvention.”
“God help me, Alistair. What the hell does that mean?”
“It means he might petition to have the will overturned if he can show Josie was vulnerable as a result of her illness—insinuating you coerced her to leave you the house.”
She sank back into the pillows in utter shock.
“Brynne, are you there?”
“I’m here. I just can’t believe this. That claim is ridiculous. I never asked Josie for anything.”
“I know that, dear.”
“So, what does this mean? I don’t have money to fight this. Who has the burden of proof?”
“They would have to prove the undue influence, but you have to pay your own legal fees.”
Brynne felt sick, then fury took over. “What a bastard. And he was supposed to be her friend?”
“I believe this is a tactic to get you to sell. This chap is used to getting his own way. Since you didn’t take the money, this is a way to frighten you to reconsider.”
“Pfft. He doesn’t know me very well. Back me into a corner, I’ll come out fighting. In fact, I’d like to burn his monstrous house to the ground.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, Brynne, please don’t say things like that.”
“I’m only joking. But a girl can dream, can’t she?”
“Not dreams of arson, no.”
“I think we should set up a meeting, Alistair. Tell him I would like to negotiate.”
“Oh, dear. Do you think that’s a good idea?”
“Yes. I will not cower and wait for him to make the first move. Doesn’t he know hell hath no fury like a woman threatened, scorned, and ruined?!”
“Okay, Brynne. Leave it with me. I’ll see what I can arrange.”
Brynne called Jared, desperate to vent. Fucking voicemail. Story of my life! When I need a man, they’re never there for me.
“J, it’s your pathetic friend whose life is unraveling. I am wondering if someone made a voodoo doll of me, and they’re sticking pins in it. Call me when you get the chance.”
Fresh air was what she needed, and some exercise. Her jeans were tight, and her bra felt like bondage—and not in a good way. As she stomped down the worn path to the water, she imagined all kinds of ways to annoy the dickhead at the top of the hill. If only she had a dog, she could put shit at his back door. Better yet, a giant horse turd.
When she arrived at the rocky shoreline, her mood was much improved. The wind off the water reminded her of a cold granny smith apple: fresh, tart, and crisp. The sounds of water lapping against the beach always calmed her down. She sat on a boulder to contemplate the world and her place in it.
How had she gone from a simple existence to disaster and chaos? Throughout her life, Brynne struggled with maintaining attachments, and it only worsened after the experience in Toronto. She’d lost touch with her friends from school, and if not for Jared and his larger-than-life personality, she might never have come out of her shell. She also knew that without her aunt’s faith and encouragement, she wouldn’t have started the book. It was her lifeline now.
So, she had to deal with an overzealous neighbor making threats and a little house needing some TLC. Was that enough to make her run for the hills? “No!” she yelled to the wind.
She had more things to be grateful for than freaked out about. Her house had stunning water views. Her job allowed her time to write. Plus, she’d found a handsome handyman who could do countless projects. Maybe if she dated him, she could get around the stupid stipulations of the will. OMG, what a brilliant idea!
She would not run away anymore. Instead, she would be rational and spiritual to get through this mess. She would fight the claims because the truth was on her side. If she needed reinforcements, she would pray for Auntie Josie to come and haunt that motherfucker. It was settled.
When she reached the cottage, she had a stitch in her side. Her phone dinged, and she realized the signal didn’t go beyond her front porch. Jared had returned her call, so she rang him back.
“Bree! How are you, babe? What the heck is going on?”
She sighed. “Nothing a little hike to the beach wouldn’t cure, my friend.”
“Your message was kind of intense! What of voodoo dolls and pins?”
“Where do I start? King shit of turd hill is threatening to sue me, the repairs to the house are probably going to be in the thousands, and my aunt’s will won’t pay out until I find the man of my dreams.”
“Oh my god. Wait, what? First tell me who is king shit?!”
“He’s the guy who wants to buy my house.” She sighed heavily into her fists. “I didn’t know it sits on almost three acres and goes all the way to the water. He claims Josie promised to sell it to him or let him dig a trench right through it. Since I refused the offer, he’s considering contesting her will.” She paused, thinking, then sat forward. “Wait, I just thought of something! I think I know how to win! This brute plans to try to prove I influenced Josie to leave it to me when she was sick and therefore susceptible to influence. But she put me on the title of this place over a year ago. She wasn’t sick then.” Grinning, she asked, “Do you know what this means?”
“Honestly, I’m not following, but it sounds like you don’t have to worry about that part.”
“Exactly. He’s assuming I pushed her around so she would leave it to me. When I meet him, I’ll tell him where to go and where to stuff his five hundred K.”
“What did you just say?”
“Yeah, he’s willing to pay five hundred thousand pounds for it. How crazy is that?!”
“Holy shit! Are you sure you don’t want to take the money and come back to London? It’s so goddamned remote out there, babe.”
“I know, but I love this place. Even if I never find love, I’ll have enough money to live comfortably.”
“What the hell are you talking about? I seriously cannot keep up.”
“Auntie Josie said I won’t collect the bulk of the estate unless I find a suitable man, give up the three-date rule, and meet other ridiculous conditions. Ha! I have a way around that, too.”
“Wow. I’m gonna need some popcorn. God, I miss you, girl!”
“I know, I miss you, too. I’ll come to the city soon, I promise. In other news, the contractor I hired is smokin’ hot, and he’s going to do all the repairs. If I date him, I might be able to get around that other clause. He seems keen.”
“Jesus. A shit ton has happened these last few days. But you sound good.”
“I am not going gently into that good night. Hell, I’ve been through worse.”
“You are a warrior! I’m so proud of you. And how is the writing going?”
She grimaced. “Okay, so I got a bit off track, but I’m going to dive back in and join a BDSM chat room. Oh, and I need to come up with a pseudonym.”
“Okay, wow. Lesson number one: Do not go into any chat room with your real name. Can you hide your location and use a VPN?”
“A what?”
“Oy vey. Hang on.” She heard muffled voices in the background. “I’m sorry I have to run, babe. But don’t go joining anything online yet. I’ll get you set up and we’ll talk about the pen name. Call me later tonight?”
“Can’t tonight. I’m working the bar. How about tomorrow? I’m off in the evening.”
“Perfect. I love you, and I miss you so much.”
“Me too, J. Just realized I never asked you anything about yourself. I’m an awful friend.”
“Stop it. You are not. We will talk tomorrow night.”
“Okay. Love you.”
She hung up and checked her email. There was a note from Alistair advising that MacCallum’s legal firm was requesting a copy of the will and they would be available for a meeting in Portree next Monday. She begged him to take his time responding and to wait until the last possible minute to provide the will. He agreed and suggested they black out Josie’s special conditions for the inheritance. Brynne was grateful he thought of that. It would be bloody mortifying if they saw those.
In an abundance of caution, she asked him to minimize the use of her full name in the correspondence and instead refer to her as the beneficiary, the niece, or the estate of Josie Lamond. Alistair didn’t know the details of the London scandal, only that they had wrongly accused her of something horrible. It was best if they didn’t make the connection and paint her in a worse light.
Gage missed Edinburgh. With its stunning skyline, ancient castles, and cobbled streets, the city had a unique personality, unlike the never-ending sprawl of London. He loved that it had plenty of green space and a much slower pace. The best part was being able to walk from his place to the office in ten minutes.
His townhome had a much warmer feel than the London penthouse because he’d kept many of the original architectural features. Not long after taking possession, he’d left for London to open Dominus. In a moment of weakness, he’d given the interior designer carte blanche. They created a spectacular combination of contemporary style while keeping the original charm of decorative cornices, lead-paned windows, and working fireplaces in every room.
Fiona had the fridge stocked, and the place aired out before his arrival. After being cooped up for days hiding from the press, his only desire was to walk to his favorite pub for a beer and some fish and chips. After he dumped his case and changed into jeans, Gage walked with a spring in his step, relishing the crisp night air. As he made his way up to George Street, he saw the sun setting behind the majestic castle on the hill. It was good to be home.
He sat at the bar and enjoyed a cold draught in the pub’s relaxed atmosphere. His phone buzzed. It was an email from the private investigator with a preliminary report on Brynne.
Born in Inverness on August 9. Family moved to Canada when she was eight.
Mother left eight months later. Father became an alcoholic and eventually lost his job. It was five years before he found full-time work.
Brynne won her first writing contest at age sixteen. She was accepted into a local college for journalism because of her entry essay, not her marks.
In the middle of her second year, her father was diagnosed with cancer, and she dropped out to look after him. She attended night school to complete her degree at the age of twenty-six.
A year or two of odd jobs and then she landed an internship at a Toronto magazine which turned into a junior copy editor job. Two years later, she was fired or quit because of an affair with the CEO of the media group. There was a link to the articles about his scandalous divorce.
At thirty, she moved back to the UK and got the job at the Mirror .
Gage processed this info while he finished his meal. Did Brynne make a habit of sleeping with her bosses? Could she have been conspiring with the bumbling editor, Nigel? He would ask the investigator to get more detail from Toronto and see if there had been any attempted extortion.
They had no information on her mother’s current whereabouts. He found it strange that she abandoned her daughter. The PI said he would dig into her relationships and employment at the Mirror next and had some interviews lined up with friends from her college days. As he walked back to the townhouse, Gage suppressed the irritating pangs of sympathy he felt for her lousy childhood. Instead, he considered her motives for the story in the Mirror . It was obvious her career had not taken off. She was thirty-two and had nothing to show for it. The other alternative was that someone offered her money or a position if she could get an exclusive on the club. He would get to the truth—one way or the other.